


the things that matter

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Time Skip, it's real soft boy hours folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: It was not long ago that Hubert had cared for nothing that was not carving the path forward for Lady Edelgard, splattering himself with blood so that none might touch even the toes of her shoes. Now here he stood, making banal conversation with Ferdinand von Aegir in the moonlight.-Mild spoilers for the Black Eagles Route





	the things that matter

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i am so weak for the hair braiding trope i tell you what

The camp was settling for the evening, the fires burning low and the conversation dropping to murmurs. Hubert slipped from one part of camp to the next, stepping around knots of exhausted soldiers, checking the perimeter as above him, the moon crept steadily into the sky, unveiling herself to the world against the familiar blanket of stars.

He moved into the cluster of tents occupied by the Emperor and her generals last, doing a swift check despite trusting that his companions had already checked and re-checked their position before turning in for the night.

It had been a long day of difficult travel and Hubert could feel it in every joint, every step, every flex of his exhausted muscles. But there was still so much to be done. They would arrive at their destination in mere hours and already one of his spies, quick and silent on her wyvern, had returned with a full report of enemies lying in wait. A group of bandits, it seemed, nothing to cause too much worry, but definitely not a trifle to be ignored.

“All the more reason to rest for the night,” Edelgard had said, giving him a pointed look. Hubert didn’t flinch, all too familiar with that particular expression on his Lady’s face.

“After completing the perimeter checks,” he’d replied, pressing his fist to his chest as he bowed. Edelgard had dismissed him to his duties with a tired nod, turning away to murmur quietly with the Professor as he’d slipped away into the shadows.

It seemed he was the last of their collective to turn in for the night – though even he had to occasionally bow to the physical needs of his own body, his mind would remain awake yet, turning strategies for tomorrow’s battle over and over again. The other tents were dark and silent, with the exception of the Professor’s, where he could just make out the soft edges of a lamp from behind the canvas.

Hubert had not asked Byleth why he chose to sleep with a lamp flickering near his head, and he did not expect to ever put the question to him. Just because Hubert preferred the dark did not mean everyone did, and there wasn’t a member among their strike force who would press Byleth for details of how it had felt to vanish for those five long years.

The fire in the center of the cluster of tents had all but burned out, the glowing coals that remained providing little for light or warmth. Hubert crossed to it, intending to smother it properly before finally retiring himself, when the sound of a soft footfall from behind him froze him mid-step.

He lifted a hand, listening hard, the sweeping prickle of magic clustering at the tips of his fingers.

“Peace, Hubert. I am no enemy.”

Ah. Hubert let out a steady breath and with it, let the magic fade.

“Ferdinand,” he said, and turned. “You’re out late.”

Ferdinand gave him a small smile, hand resting on the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. “Not that I do not have the utmost faith in our soldiers, but I found I could not quiet my own restless mind until I had walked the perimeter myself.” He crossed the clearing to where Hubert stood beside the dying embers and Hubert took the opportunity to examine him, to look for hints of injury, of pain, anything that Ferdinand might be trying to brush off.

Other than a smudge of dirt just below his left eye, Ferdinand seemed to be in good health, if just as exhausted as the rest of them. Hubert felt his shoulders relax, just a fraction.

“Understandable,” he replied. “I was doing the same thing. We must have just missed each other.”

“Ah! A pity. I certainly would have appreciated your company,” Ferdinand said, stretching his arms above his head. Hubert looked down and away, familiar now with the flash of desire that rolled through him whenever such sentimentality fell from Ferdinand’s lips. A weakness to be certain, but by the goddess, Hubert was not made of stone.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” he said instead and Ferdinand let his arms drop, a smile blooming across his face. There was a moment of silence that stretched between them, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite relaxed. A moment pregnant with promise, full of words left unspoken, of things left unsaid.

Ferdinand glanced around at the tents that held their companions. “It seems we are the last to bed,” he said and Hubert nodded, accepting that as his dismissal. Of course, Ferdinand would want to rest after their long, grueling day. He should not feel this… this disappointment at the thought of cutting short their conversation. Was he not about to turn in for the night himself?

“It would seem,” he said, lingering anyway, stretching the conversation for a few more moments. Pathetic. When had he become such a sentimental fool? It was not long ago that Hubert had cared for nothing that was not carving the path forward for Lady Edelgard, splattering himself with blood so that none might touch even the toes of her shoes. Now here he stood, making banal conversation with Ferdinand von Aegir in the moonlight.

“A shame. I was hoping Dorothea would still be awake,” Ferdinand said with a sigh. “Or perhaps Petra.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow and Ferdinand, looking a bit abashed, elaborated. “I… well, as you may have noticed, my hair has gotten rather long.”

He reached up and tugged on a lock of long, red hair. Hubert had, in fact, noticed. He’d caught himself looking for flashes of that very red on the battlefield, searching it out in crowds, turning his head to catch a glimpse of it at the corner of his eye.

Ferdinand shrugged one shoulder. “Dorothea has been teaching me different techniques to keep it from becoming a nuisance. Recently it has been various styles of braids and I must admit, they have been quite a feat to learn to do myself.” He laughed, softly, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair, starting at the scalp and dragging his hand through to the ends, shaking out the tangles. “Last night she brought Petra over to show me a style from Brigid that I could not even begin to replicate. A triviality, I know, such a minor vanity in the face of war, but...” He trailed off, giving Hubert a sheepish smile. “It is rather nice not to wake up and have to spend several minutes attempting to beat it into submission.”

Hubert absorbed this, trying to picture Ferdinand with his hair bound up in braids. “Why do you not simply cut it off?”

That is after all what he’d done. Frustrated with the way his hair had continually fallen in his eyes at inopportune moments, Hubert had borrowed a set of razors from Caspar and clipped the whole mess into a more manageable state.

Ferdinand chuckled. “Ah, Hubert, as always you cut through to the heart of the matter. You are correct, of course, that would be the logical course of action. But I suppose I have grown to like it, at the end of the day. Even if it is a pain to care for.”

“It suits you,” Hubert said, the words leaping from his mouth before his brain had a chance to catch them and hold them back. Ferdinand looked briefly startled before his surprise melted away into a small, pleased smile.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly and Hubert abruptly found the stars to be fascinating, looking away from the affection on Ferdinand’s face for favor of staring almost desperately up into the sky. “I suppose there is nothing for it tonight. Perhaps I will attempt a poor duplicate of one of the styles Dorothea is fond of and we shall deal with the consequences at dawn.”

Hubert looked back at Ferdinand, who was winding a strand of hair around his index finger, and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“If you would like,” he said, unable to believe what he was saying even as the words left his mouth, “I have been doing Lady Edelgard’s hair since we were children. I am... confident in my skills.”

Ferdinand’s expression lit up. “Oh, would you? Please do not feel obligated if I have interrupted you on your way to bed.”

Hubert waved away his words, peeling his gloves off with two quick motions and stowing them away in his pockets. He tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves and gestured for Ferdinand to turn.

But Ferdinand seemed distracted, gaze fixated on Hubert’s hands as though he were surprised to see them. Hubert looked at his own fingers, wondering if he’d retained an injury he’d neglected to notice, but no, they seemed perfectly normal, his skin pale in the watery moonlight.

“Something wrong?” he asked and Ferdinand’s head snapped up.

“Not at all!” he said, a little too quickly, and sat down right there on the ground beside the cooling embers, crossing his legs. Hubert stepped around him and sank to his knees, ignoring the protest in his tired limbs, and hesitated.

Ah. It would appear that he had made a grave misstep, a rarity for him, and had not considered every consequence of his offer.

Obviously to braid it, Hubert was going to have to touch Ferdinand’s hair, to touch Ferdinand himself, to run his fingers through each and every lock of bright red hair. The thought had crossed his mind before, of course, but he had never acted on the foolish impulse. Would it be coarse? Or soft, smooth like silk?

“Hubert?” Ferdinand’s voice was tentative and Hubert shook himself out of it.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I suppose I am feeling the day’s journey and the lateness of the hour.”

Ferdinand shifted. “We do not have to do this now,” he said, twisting back to look at him. “Of course, you must be exhausted. It is abysmally late, after all, and we both need to rest before—”

“Silence,” Hubert commanded and Ferdinand went quiet, a flicker of amusement lifting the corner of his mouth. Hubert could not help but return the expression and without further delay took a lock of Ferdinand’s hair between his fingers, gathering it up gently, picking apart any tangles that halted his progress.

Ferdinand let out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping as some of the tension went out of his neck. Unbridled affection burned hot in Hubert’s chest, and just for a moment, just one single, guilty, stolen moment, he let it burn.

Then ruthlessly he doused it and returned his attention to the task at hand. A simple braid would suffice, something functional rather than stylish, considering he was only planning on sleeping with it.

He worked quickly, efficiently, and in moments had swept Ferdinand’s hair into neat plait.

“Do you have a tie?” he asked and Ferdinand dug for a moment in his pocket, producing a bit of fabric that he handed back to Hubert, who fastened it securely around the end of the braid.

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels, satisfied. Ferdinand twisted around so they were facing each other. He was smiling, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright.

“Many thanks, my friend,” he said, reaching back to touch the braid at the base of his neck. “You are truly a man of many talents.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Hubert. It was simply a braid. And not even his best – he could see now that he’d missed a stray lock of hair, soft against Ferdinand’s cheek. Without thinking he reached out, brushing the loose strands behind Ferdinand’s ear.

Ferdinand’s breath caught in his throat and Hubert froze, fingers whisper-light against Ferdinand’s skin.

For a moment that stretched to an eternity they sat, the silence between them swelling to an aching crescendo.

“Apologies,” Hubert said, voice hoarse, but before he could move away, Ferdinand’s hand snapped up, catching him around the wrist and holding him fast. He closed his eyes, breath unsteady, and pressed Hubert’s hand flat against his cheek.

The smothered affection in his chest caught and swelled into a roaring inferno, sweeping up Hubert’s arms and tingling in his cheeks, blooming in hot patches on his neck and chest.

“Ferdinand,” he said. He’d intended his voice to be stern, but Ferdinand’s name had left his lips soft and helpless. Besotted, Dorothea would have said, a teasing glint in her eyes, and Hubert felt a wave of embarrassment roll over him, mingling unpleasantly with the burning in his cheeks.

Ferdinand squeezed his wrist, briefly, just once, and opened his eyes, letting their hands fall. “Hubert, I...” he said and Hubert’s stomach twisted at the rasp in Ferdinand’s voice. After a moment’s pause, however, Ferdinand cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, again, and Hubert looked down at his fingers, twisting them together in his lap.

“It was nothing,” he said. He drew on every ounce of self-control he possessed, pressing his palms to his knees before getting to his feet, dusting dirt off his thighs. “But I’m afraid we really must be getting to bed. We have another long day ahead of us after all.”

He held out a hand. Ferdinand reached up and took it, allowing Hubert to help him to his feet.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Ferdinand said, squeezing Hubert’s hand.

“Until dawn,” Hubert replied, returning the squeeze. He released Ferdinand’s hand, letting his own fall cold to his side as he stepped away, heading for his tent.

“Hubert?”

He paused, turning back, heart having somehow found its way into his throat. But Ferdinand was shaking his head, something almost sad tinged in his smile. “Never mind. Sweet dreams, Hubert.”

Hubert watched him for a moment, confused, but nothing else seemed forthcoming. “Get some sleep, Ferdinand,” he said, turning away. “It would be… a problem, were you to die on the battlefield because a lack of sleep had clouded your head.”

Ferdinand laughed softly as Hubert slipped into his tent. He listened carefully, tracking Ferdinand’s footsteps as they crossed the clearing, only relaxing when he heard them go still near Ferdinand’s tent.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath.

It was better this way, to be free of such distractions just before a battle. He knew that. But such logic apparently had not found its way to his insipid, foolish heart, still pulsing erratically against his chest.

Perhaps if he put his gloves back on, the ghost sensation of Ferdinand’s hair against his fingers would fade.

Instead, Hubert stripped off his jacket and boots, readying himself for bed. He lay there in the dark for a moment, staring up at nothing at all. Slowly he lifted one hand above his head, studying his fingertips in the darkness of the tent, despite an inability to actually see them.

He let out a long, slow breath, curling his fingers into a fist. Then, closing his eyes, he brought the fist to his lips and held it there for one, two, three throbs of his heart, before abruptly rolling to his side and shoving the whole matter from his mind.

There was a war to fight, after all. Nothing else mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> *gordon ramsay voice* PLAIT IT


End file.
